


We aren't Frankfurt

by orphan_account



Series: I'm always positive(с) [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: FC Bayern München, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:36:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: James doesn't like their new coach.





	We aren't Frankfurt

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Тут тебе не Франкфурт](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358021) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> English is not my first language, and I have no idea why on Earth I decided to translate this thing.

James slaps him. His palm is very confident and strong. His face is almost red because of rage, his sweatpants and hoodie are soaking with sweat, he looks as if he was at the arena with thousands of eyes staring at him.  
Niko doesn’t even move. Those slaps aren’t enough to make him lose his breath, but James is pretty sure that he’s going to faint anytime now. But that’s not going to happen; what’s going to happen is James realizing he’s just wasting his breath.  
One more slap, another one, and Niko — no, of course, he doesn’t control it, of course, he does this on purpose, — catches James’ hands and holds them, pulling close to his chest. Doing it strong enough for James to lose his breath and twitch. He doesn’t even try to free his hands; his face looks like he’s in pain.  
But Niko hold him strong enough and — faster than James could even react, — puts his left hand behind James’ back. So now James is pressed to his chest.  
Niko took his chin with free hand. He holds it hards. He holds his cheeks, so James couldn’t talk or smile.  
His eyes are burning with rage and hatred. It seems like all the words he has already said to Niko aren’t enough to express his feelings. So Niko looks at him very carefully, at his pupils growing and pulsating.  
\- Why are you so nervous?  
James lets out a dry laugher. Niko still holds his face, squeezing his cheekbones. So James’ eyebrows are crooking. It really looks like he’s in pain.  
\- Why are you so nervous? — Niko repeats. — You have already spent four months trying to convince me that you’re a true professional, Rodríguez.  
James’ lips twitch, and Niko just squeezes his fingers harder, perhaps, too hard. James closes his eyes, wrinkles. At some point it looks to Niko like he’s crying, but it can’t be true.  
James tries to free himself, so Niko holds him stronger. He feels a smile appearing on his own lips — instead of kicking him, James just presses his fist to Niko’s chest. Of course, it doesn’t help.  
Niko feels something else.  
James Rodríguez has been trying to convince Niko for four months already that he deserves a place in the starting lineup. The only person who needed to be convinced was James Rodríguez himself.  
James Rodríguez got a hard on.  
Too late he realizes it and tries to free himself from Niko’s arms again.  
\- Or, — Niko takes his hand off James’ chin, and James looks away, pressing his fist harder to Niko’s chest, but it’s useless, because Niko already holds both James’ hands behind his back without an effort, — or you’re not training hard enough and just need to get rid of unresolved tension.  
James looks away again, his face turns red, his freckles look fake.  
\- Does it have to do something with fucking?  
James’ eyebrows crook, very funny and even a little bit supid, and Niko would like to repeat this word right in his ear, — fucking, James, you heard me, fucking, — and see how he becomes even more red.  
That’s just stupid.  
God almighty, kid, you’re almost thirty, why do you look like a little boy who was accidentally left here by his mom and dad? Like you had no idea about football making real men crying and breaking every day?  
Did they say it would be fun?  
Did you think you can fuck your own potential up?  
\- I’ll help you, Rodríguez.  
Niko turns him to face the window, so hard and fast a referee could’ve whistle if there was one. James turns obediently, like he doesn’t even know what’s going on.  
\- You’re not a professional, James. — Niko still holds his hands, making him bend over. — You’re a pathetic drama queen. You don’t know what hard work means.  
James twitches again, trying to free his hands, but it doesn’t look serious.  
\- That’s all you’ve got, Rodríguez. That’s all you’ve got. Half-working. Half-training. Half, — James bends even more when Niko squeezes his hands, and it looks like his sweatpants will go down really easy and fast, so Niko lets his left hand go, — Raging.  
James doesn’t try to run. He doesn’t even try to say something. Just puts his free palm on the window sill.  
It’s already dark on the street, gym is silent and empty, and a light from the stadium falls on them both. Silence is everywhere. And so is emptiness.  
\- You do hate me, Rodríguez.  
James lowers his head; his hair on the back of his head look ridiculous, stubble here and one small curl there, maybe it has something to do with fashion.  
He lowers his head even more, he’s almost laying on the windowsill.  
\- You half-hating me. You’re strong. You’re fast. And your slaps are very good.  
James’ breath is heavy, he moans quietly, and Niko knows that James has no idea if he feels rage, shame or pleasure. Or something else.  
His sweatpants are already around his ankles. His shoulders jerk as if he was going to cry when Niko spits on his fingers.  
Niko knows what James feels.  
It’s pure unadulterated rage.  
James doesn’t need to know.  
Niko shuts James’ mouth with his palm when he enters his body. He was hard right from the moment James pressed himself to him without even realizing it.  
He’s dry, he’s tight, and he’s tensed.  
It’s like James is having a spasm all over his body.  
James is moaning and almost whining, every sound is softer than the other. He’s tensed like a string.  
Niko hurts them both at this moment, but it doesn’t matter anymore.  
James bites his hands, he’s whining and almost sobbing.  
And before Niko knows, James is relaxed and soft, letting him move inside of his ass again and again.  
Niko looks at the ceiling, almost grey in this silent darkness.  
It takes no more than ten minutes, and James’ body is still relaxed and pilant, his chest on the windowsill.  
October is already in the air.  
The thought is so inappropriate, Niko doesn’t even know where did it come from.  
James’ hand goes down, his elbow starts to move, he’s trying to help himself.  
Niko closes his eyes, sniffs his hair of the back of his head, squeezes his right thigh harder.  
James is taking him whole, his body becomes tighter and warmer.  
He’s hot and he’s dry, and it hurts.  
He comes — of course, he comes, bites Niko’s palm again, his sperm all over the windowsill and his own fingers.  
Niko thrusts three or four more times, pulls out and comes on his spread legs.  
His throat is sore, he wipes off his mouth without any reason, his fingers are tingling, his body doesn’t even feel like he just had sex.  
But it wasn’t about sex at all.  
James puts his sweatpants back on and ties the drawstring nervously as if he was afraid they might fall down again within a second.  
— Be there tomorrow at noon sharp.  
James doesn’t say anything and looks the other way. Niko leaves in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Of course, they’re not. – says Ante over the phone. – We... At least I wanted you.


End file.
